#now I need to go back to that cable sweater…. or scrap it. idk

[brownheadedcowbird]

inge sweater completed! just needs blocking to even out some of that ribbing and the yoke. almost more proud of the wrong side… look at all those floats :’)

[odinsonnn]

autumn leaves (peter x reader)

Summer’s coming to an end, and that means a lot less Peter in your life.

Word Count: 1160

Warnings: none

A/N: hi i really love peter parker and heck i needed to get this out of my system so , here have peter and reader being very obvious and oblivious and cute thanks also i wrote this while listening to autumn leaves by ed sheeran so u can listen to it while you read this idk

“I have something to show you.”

The heavy air of summer was becoming ever-so crisp as July rolled into August. T-shirts turned into sweaters, jogs outdoors into runs on the treadmill, iced tea into apple cider. There was always the unmistakeable scent of cinnamon wafting through the Compound’s kitchen. Though you welcomed the change of seasons, as Cap no longer forced you to train outdoors (in fear of you getting sick), it also meant the end of summer vacation.

It meant the end of your days and nights spent with Peter. Of staying up until ungodly hours of the morning, stargazing and watching Netflix and just talking, exploring one another beneath the sheets, living and laughing and existing for nobody but yourselves. Though you technically had separate bedrooms, you spent your nights together more often than not. You wouldn’t admit it, but you slept better when he was with you. He would admit it, and he slept better, too.

You missed your family, of course. You missed your friends and you missed your home in Queens and you missed the city. There was a certain tranquility to being Upstate, but after too long, it made you antsy and uncomfortable. You needed the rush and bustle. You missed spending your weekends down there, sometimes taking the 7 train up to Manhattan with Peter. It was just you and your boyfriend and NYC — the city that was an organism in and of itself, breathing and laughing and crying with its 1.6 million residents. (Y/N) and Peter and Manhattan, taking on the world.

But the Compound gave you another family. Nat and Cap and Bruce had appointed themselves as your stand-in parents over summer breaks, when you and Peter lived at the Compound to train. Tony and Clint were your “cool uncles,” as was Thor, when he wasn’t tending to his Asgardian duties. Sam and Wanda had taken the role of being like siblings to you both. It’d been a while before Bucky accustomed himself to your presence, longer than that before he trusted you, and even longer than that before he trusted himself around you, but he had become one of your best friends, as odd as it sounded. He was a constant; though outwardly cold, he had a pure heart and purer intentions.

They were your home away from home. It broke your heart when you had to leave them. Every time.

There was a week left before you had to go back to Queens. You only lived a few blocks from Peter, but you didn’t attend the same school, and you were both just so busy (him with his schoolwork and Academic Decathalon and hero-ing, you with your heavy load of classwork and odd assortment of extracurriculars). You didn’t spend a lot of time together. You went on coffeeshop dates when your schedules aligned; it was almost like the sun and moon moving for an eclipse.

Your parents and his Aunt May allowed sleepovers sometimes. You’d curl up together on one of your beds, doing little else but basking in the presence of one another. That much was enough.

You’d been on a couch in the living room when he approached you. Everyone except Thor, Bruce, and Tony could be found somewhere in the room, draped over loveseats and armchairs. Your nose was buried in a book recommended to you by Cap. You were wearing one of Peter’s sweaters. It was tan, cable-knit, and comfortable. It drowned you, but it smelled like him. You planned on taking it back home with you.

He nudged your shoulder, said those six words to you, flashed you his signature awkwardly dorky grin.

“Okay.”

You put your bookmark in the novel. The bookmark was a scrap of newspaper you’d cut while back at home. It was from the week after the Chitauri invaded New York and left most of Midtown Manhattan a wreck. It reminded you to do better. To be better. That you were a part of something more.

You stood, and your hands found one another’s as if on impulse. Fingers intertwining, you allowed him to lead you to the elevator.

“Where are you taking me, Peter?” you hummed, smiling when his eyes met yours. The orbs of brown always held a warmth to them.

“Nowhere special,” he said back. “Just trust me, yeah?”

You trusted him, but it didn’t need to be said. Both of you knew that already.

The elevator dinged open, and you walked out together, footsteps aligned as you made your way onto the roof; you were immediately glad for the sweater you wore, as the air nipped at your cheeks and sent a chill through you… and when you saw the blanket set out for you — stereotypical red and white checkerboard, with a wicker basket set atop it — you smiled.

It was unspoken, but you were thankful. It was exactly what you needed.

He escorted you over to the blanket and unclasped his hand from your own.

“I only packed sandwiches,” he told you, penetrating the silence. “And some cocoa. I didn’t think we needed much else, y’know. I mean, I really hope it’s not too litt—”

“Peter, it’s perfect.”

Finishing the sandwiches took a couple minutes at most — there were two tuna salad ones, and two peanut butter. You spent ten minutes in silence, though, taking turns sipping hot cocoa from the thermos.

He leaned back to put the Saran wrap from the sandwiches and the empty thermos in the basket, then moved it off to the side.

Your hands came together again, and you took a moment to fiddle with his fingers. He was always so much warmer than you were. His hands were like beacons of heat by themselves. You allowed your fingers to trace patterns on his palm, the back of his hands, his fingertips, and everywhere in between. It wasn’t long before you’d leaned into his side, his arm moving to encircle your waist and pull you closer to him. Your head was rested on his shoulder, forehead nestled in the crook of his neck. The air was light, but silent. You could practically hear the cogs turning in his head.

“What are you thinking about?”

He smiled and huffed out a sigh.

“I really love you, (Y/N).”

You breathed. In, out. In, out.

“I love you too, Peter.”

You stayed there, lost track of time, meandered back inside only when FRIDAY alerted you that dinner was waiting. It’d maybe been hours, but nobody was really certain how much time you’d spent on that rooftop with your hands intertwined. It wasn’t nearly long enough, though. You let yourselves disappear, meld into one person, one organism, one entity, breathing synchronized and hearts beating one and the same.

— do you ever wonder if the stars shine out for you? float down, like autumn leaves. hush now, close your eyes before the sleep. [ ed sheeran ; autumn leaves ]